Another voice chimed in. "So you're dredging up the old 'aliens seeded the earth' theory?"
Rebecca looked over at Lopez, who was pulling his iPod earbuds out. A faint, tinny techno beat leaked from the tiny speakers. Svengurd had also turned toward the discussion, equally disdainful. Of course, Brandt was asleep. Still, three audience members were more than enough for her.
"Absolutely no aliens, but something from outer space? Maybe."
She brought up another schematic. This one showed the helical structure of DNA. "You all know how radiation, mainly solar, causes mutations?"
Davidson was all over it, but Lopez and Svengurd looked a little sketchy about the details.
"Okay, radiation is an energy that can knock electrons from their orbit, which we can all agree, messes with our molecules." Seeing the men's nods, she continued. "DNA is especially sensitive to this type of damage, since it is a blueprint for all that we are."
"Except our souls," Svengurd interjected.
"Well, there's some debate about that, but luckily that's not my field of expertise." She went back to the DNA molecule and ran an irradiation simulation. "Just a single nucleic acid alteration can cause cancer."
Lopez pointed to the screen. "Most of the time it hurts the cell, but every once in a while doesn't it create a good mutation?"
"Like turning a white moth black during the Industrial Age?" Davidson added.
The corporal nodded. "Natural selection and all that."
My, my. Two people who paid attention in biology class. She was impressed. "That's the current theory."
"One that we can only assume that you don't agree with?" Davidson asked, a full smile on his lips.
"Do you have any idea of the odds that a zap of solar radiation would cause a useful mutation? Let alone creating the same one over and over again?"
Svengurd went back to cleaning his weapon. "No, but I'm sure you're going to bore us with it."
Rebecca's lips pinched together. Hecklers were not her favorite. Especially when he interrupted before her big drumroll. "I won't pull out the stats, but they are astronomical."
"Then how do you explain it?" her eager student asked.
"That there is a type of radiation, until now undiscovered, that is conducive to positive mutations."
Even Davidson frowned. "You're postulating a 'good' type of radiation?"
"That would be my theory, yes."
Svengurd snorted and turned his back on her while Lopez chuckled as he put his iPod earbuds back in, tapping his head against the belly of the plane to the beat of his techno music.
"Well, I think it's cool," the young soldier said, but with far less enthusiasm than he had before.
Rebecca had been laughed out of entire conferences before. A little military skepticism wasn't going to dissuade her.
She brought back up the schematic of the scattered populations. "What else explains such divergent cultures coming up with the pyramids? There are so many similarities between these populations. They must be influenced by this gene."
"Is that what Lochum is working on?"
Taking in a sharp breath, Rebecca's mind whirled as she tried to think of something, anything, to say to get Davidson off that subject.
Brandt came to full consciousness at Lochum's name. He had not given his team the "button up" on that moniker yet. Cracking his lids, he found the doctor still stumbling for words. Who the hell was this guy that the mere mention of his name could silence the talkative doctor?
"Um, no. His research goes in a different direction," she said, stumbling as her screen's light flickering across her face.
Davidson nodded. He was sitting a little closer to Monroe than Brandt would have liked, but the kid was obviously smitten with the doctor.
"So he's not on board with the whole 'good' radiation story."
"No, definitely not," she chuckled a bit as she said it. "He is a little more 'hand of God' than that."
"Really?" Svengurd's ears had obviously pricked up.
Brandt was going to have to shut this conversation down if it went much further than this. He trusted his men one hundred percent, but Lochum's work was way over the entire team's pay grade. The less they knew, the better.
Monroe turned to Davidson. "Why aren't we in our final descent?"
The private checked his watch. "We're not landing for another hour."
"What? We're only thirty miles outside of Paris."
Brandt shut his eyes. The discussion was taking a nice ninety-degree turn away from Lochum.
"Yeah, but we're landing in Boxberg, then driving into France."
"Why?"
Brandt didn't need to open his eyes to know that Monroe was back at the laptop again as the private answered. "The French aren't too welcoming when it comes to a military transport."
"That's ridiculous." Monroe's words took on that "I am smarter than everyone in this room" tone that all academicians seemed to learn in graduate school. "Belgium... It's three hundred miles out of the way."
"How do you know that?"
"I've got our GPS position right here."
"How?" Davidson asked the question Brandt would have. The sergeant cracked his lids open again.
Monroe dug in her pack and pulled out a satellite phone. "I've had it modified to broadcast a Bluetooth signal so I can cruise the Internet."
"You're kidding!"
"You want to Google something?"
If the doctor didn't already have Davidson around her little finger, he was now wound tightly. The private was practically in her lap. Given the kid's prudish nature, it seemed Davidson preferred technology to sex.
Awe filled his voice. "How much did this cost?"
"What the grant writers don't know won't hurt them."
"Seriously, you've got to walk me through how you did it."
Brandt grinned as he closed his eyes. They were out of the woods. Whatever secrets Lochum's name held would not be revealed today.
CHAPTER 3.
Belgium Airstrip Rebecca clutched her laptop as the plane landed a little too hard for her taste. As the transport rolled to a stop, she packed up her gear but made sure her satellite phone was still generating Wi-Fi.
"You know, we could continue on to Luxembourg and catch a connecting flight to Paris," she said, trotting up next to Brandt.
"We could..." the sergeant answered as he opened the hatch. "But we're not." The soldier turned to his men. "Fall in."
Balancing her pack on her shoulder and the open laptop in her palm, Rebecca followed him down the ramp. "Seriously, we're going to be on the road for over four hours, and-"
"We'll get there in under three," Brandt said as he nodded to the flight crew, who closed the hatch behind them.
Exasperated, Rebecca tried a different tack. She did not want to be stuck in a car for three hours with this group. "Yeah, but it's only a twenty-minute connecting-"
Brandt's fist flew up and stopped just shy of her nose.
"What the-" Her words were cut off by a harsh "shush" from Davidson. Rebecca looked around and realized everyone had halted. Brandt had not been trying to scare her. He had given the "all stop" command.
"Lopez, aren't we supposed to have a local driver?"
"I don't know why," the Latino snorted. "But, yeah, we were."
For the first time, Rebecca realized they had landed at more of an airstrip rather than a true airport. Off to the left, the rusted tin hangar could hold three, maybe four planes at most. There wasn't even a tower, just field after dusty field all around them. They weren't just avoiding the French. Obviously they were avoiding the Belgian authorities as well.
As they stood halfway between their plane and the dark SUV, Rebecca wiped sweat from her brow as the Tarmac's heat seeped into her boots. She'd traveled half a world and was still sticky.
Rebecca crinkled her nose. Maybe because they were in Belgium, but there was an odd hint of chocolate in the heavy air.
Brandt hit his earpiece. "Badger's Den, this is Raven Flight. Can you confirm a driver?" Rebecca could not hear the response, but it must have been positive as the sergeant continued, "Den, could you request they step from the vehicle and identify themselves? Raven will hold position."
She squinted toward the black Mercedes SUV. The windows were too darkly tinted to see inside. The seconds ticked by as her heartbeat increased. Where was the driver? As much as she had complained about the long car ride, she was looking forward to some German-engineered air-conditioning.
Brandt's jaw clenched into a knot. "Den, we have no contact either. Do you have a satellite feed of the area?" The tension in his face increased exponentially. "You're sure there are no other heat signatures? Roger that. Have the plane hold while Raven Flight investigates. Raven out."
The sergeant turned to Davidson. "Do what you do best." The younger man went to move off, but Brandt continued, "Take her inside."
Rebecca stood her ground. "But I-"
"No questions," Brandt hissed as he hefted his weapon into firing position. Lopez and Svengurd were already flanking the car. "Get inside."
Rebecca believed in women's lib and all that, but when the guy with the really big gun looked worried and told you to take cover, you did.
Hurrying to catch up with Davidson, she asked, "What's going on?"
The friendly smile so easily flashed now held a steady frown. The younger man seemed much older suddenly, his face lined with grooves too deep for one so junior. "Don't fall behind."
The Mercedes' hood was still warm, but the engine was off as Brandt aimed his gun into the car. Lopez approached the driver's side as Svengurd took the passenger's. With a nod from Brandt, the two men opened their respective doors. His finger tightened on the trigger as his men scrambled back, positioning for a better shot.
Nothing.
"Empty, boss."
Still, Brandt kept the bead on the driver's side. "Check the backseat."
Lopez and Svengurd repeated the maneuver. "All clear."
"Trunk."
This time the corporal took up a side position as Lopez popped the lid. Brandt never wavered in his gaze to the driver's side.
"No blood, no signs of a struggle, Sarge."
Brandt flexed his trigger finger. Where was the goddamn driver?
As if reading his mind, Lopez nodded toward the hangar. "Maybe he had to take a leak."
There was something wrong. Very wrong. Far more wrong than a nervous bladder. Command had confirmed that the driver had radioed his arrival at the airstrip over a half an hour ago.
Sweat poured down Brandt's back as Lopez and Svengurd looked at him. He hated the pit that had formed in his stomach. Especially when there was so little evidence that it should be there.
Except for the missing driver.
"Keys?" he asked.
"In the ignition, sir."
Okay, not even a French driver would be that stupid. "Davidson, are you in position yet?"
"Just about," the private replied to a question Rebecca couldn't hear.
She knelt next to him on the rough steel grating. Davidson had moved them swiftly through the hangar past a lonely, half-assembled biplane and up to the second floor office. The place didn't look like it had seen any business since World War II.